


The Night Is Darker Now

by lonelywalker



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Jossed, M/M, Pre series, Yuletide 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing erotic about loneliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Is Darker Now

1.

The telephone rang again, just when he had been getting used to the silence. It was almost a month after the battle of Canary Wharf, and the messages left on his answering machine had progressed from expressions of concern to inquiries about whether he had a history of psychotropic drug usage. Ordinarily, he would have ripped the plug from the wall or, in a more rational mood, called up BT and requested a new number. But those messages were his only company, and it was reassuring in a way to be reminded that, after all, they had _won_. Life went on. Ianto Jones' life was dead in the water.

Ianto sat behind drawn blinds, nursing a mug of coffee between cold hands, and listened to Lisa's cheerful voice on the machine. It didn't seem to mean much. Neither the words nor the sound of her voice triggered any kind of emotional reaction for him. He had heard it far too often, and he could find neither humour nor irony in it anymore. After the message, there was a beep, and a pause.

He frowned, despite himself, and listened. There wasn't supposed to be a pause. He was supposed to hear a journalist rattling off contact details or, at best, Lisa's Mum softly telling him to get in touch when he felt up to it. But, instead, there was nothing at all. Not even the click of someone hanging up.

After a moment, he untangled numb legs and carefully got to his feet. He was already reaching out to pick up the receiver before he realised what he was doing. He held it up to his ear with a faint sense of trepidation.

"Ianto Jones," an amused American voice said. "Torchwood has a job for you."

Ianto hung up without saying a word.

He knew he would listen the next time.

 

2.

Jack had never expected him to stay.

He was too good for them all, stepping off the train in Cardiff Central station, fresh-faced and immaculately groomed despite the chaos he had left behind him in London. He reminded Jack of those silver screen icons of a generation ago: manners and hairstyle permanently unruffled by everything but an untoward display of affection. On any other occasion, Jack might have been tempted to test just how far Ianto Jones' composed demeanour would hold. Given the circumstances, however, it was more than a little disturbing.

"That's him?" Tosh asked, as the platform cleared, and the young man rapidly approached. "Thought you said he was a bit of a loose cannon."

Jack shrugged a little, imperceptible under the weight of the army greatcoat on his shoulders. "No more than you." He reached out a hand to the newcomer. "Captain Jack Harkness. You must be... Ianto."

Formality might have dictated a different kind of greeting, but whereas Ianto had very definitely been "Mr. Jones" over the phone, in person that title seemed about as appropriate as it would referring to a teenager. Nevertheless, Ianto smiled broadly, and shook Jack's hand in a perfectly judged grip. "Captain."

Tosh looked between them, and took a step forward. "Dr. Toshiko Sato," she said, with a tone that indicated that Jack might be getting an elbow in the ribs for forgetting her yet again. "How's London?"

Surprisingly, Ianto was still smiling. "Messy," he said. "A month ago I had journalists asking me for a hero's account of the battle. Now they're condemning us all for brainwashing the population."

"From the _Times_ to the _Sunday Sport_ in four weeks flat," Tosh muttered. "Must be a record." She raised her eyes to look past Ianto at the now-deserted train. "You don't have any luggage?"

"I don't think I'll be needing any." Ianto's smile, for the first time, rang slightly false.

 

3.

The air in the Hub was dry like that inside a pressurised aircraft. There was a faint smell of antiseptic, drifting in from the morgue, and a whiff of whisky somewhere on a level above that. Ianto Jones licked chapped lips, and rapped his knuckles on the newly installed computer station. It was both an announcement of his presence, and a reassurance that this, at least was real. Ever since he had become custodian of Torchwood's impressive array of mind-altering chemicals, he had been more than a little worried about the effects of Retcon.

Jack brushed past the festive decorations dangling from the ceiling in front of his office, and smiled. "Ianto?"

Somewhere up above them, the pterodactyl screamed.

"Not too bad, is it?" Jack was surveying the place, hands on hips as he stared up towards the ceiling. "Good work, Ianto."

"Thanks," Ianto said, although "not too bad" was hardly a ringing endorsement. It wasn't as if there had been much there in the first place.

The Hub - Torchwood's base of operations - resided in what was apparently an abandoned subway station in the heart of Cardiff. It was nothing close to Canary Wharf. There's no natural sunlight, no chance to lean out of a window and feel the breeze hit your face. The Hub would never be anywhere near a normal place of work. There wasn't even a coffee machine. For that, at least, he could be thankful.

"I've got a few files I want you to look over," Jack said, pulling up one of the new office chairs. "Hopefully it won't be so quiet around here next Christmas."

Ianto raised his eyebrows at the proffered files - document folders, with photos and other paperwork held together by a paperclip. "Applicants? How do you apply for a job here?"

For a moment, Jack looked as if he was going to maintain his usual enigmatic façade. Then he shrugged. "How did you start work at Torchwood One?"

"That was different..." Ianto flipped through pages. "These people aren't the best and brightest of the British Isles. A discredited doctor..." He glanced at the next file. "You couldn't even find a background on this one."

"The best and brightest are dead, Ianto," Jack said, leaning forward with an unusual intensity in his eyes. "Dead, or emotionally damaged for life. Out of all of that human tragedy I found two people... you and Dr. Sato. For the rest, we have to compromise."

Ianto nodded, and went to work committing the contents of the new personnel files to memory. Owen Harper... Suzie Costello... He was used to scrutinising background checks for employees at Torchwood One: files filled with Oxbridge graduates and military heroes. The attitude of the commanding officer of the Cardiff branch seemed to be a little more unconventional.

"You're not going home for Christmas, Jack?" he asked, hours later, noticing the other man making a second circuit of the refurbished Hub. It was almost nightfall on Christmas Eve, and the traffic would be murder if he intended to get anywhere further than the outskirts of the city. Then again, if Jack had any family they were more likely to be a world away, over the Atlantic. "Bit boring for you here, isn't it?"

Jack seemed a little surprised by the question, and turned around, hands in pockets. "We don't... We're not really Christmas types," he said finally, and sounded normal saying it, even though Ianto was left wondering who "we" might be. His office showed no evidence of parents, siblings, or significant others. Then again, Ianto's own office, festooned with bus timetables and Christmas crackers, was similarly dull. "And you?"

Ianto dipped his gaze. "Not really, no."

 

4.

There was blood on Jack's face when they made love for the first time.

Ianto was glad for the distraction. The smell of burning flesh had been on his mind for days after Lisa's death, even though they had placed the bodies in refrigeration units. It had been a memory, not an experience of the moment. In his dreams, when he could find the time and inclination to sleep, he found himself wandering, terrified, through the corridors of Torchwood One. What he had seen there was something he could never hope to forget.

There's a look in Jack's eyes he has glimpsed occasionally, in unguarded moments - that thousand-yard stare that hinted at horrors beyond those usually smiling blue eyes. Ianto has wondered whether Jack has seen the same thing in him. "It's useless to try to compare your pain with someone else's," Lisa had told him once, as he apologised for telling her of the stresses of his day when she was in agony.

Ianto hadn't believed her, then. He wasn't sure if he believed her now. There was something horrible in his stomach, bile rising to the surface, and worse consuming his mind.

"You can go home." Jack's voice rang out, clear above the humming of computers in the Hub. The others had done exactly that, disappeared off to their respective shams of social lives. There had been a vague suggestion in Gwen's eyes that begged him to leave as well, to avoid being alone with the man who had threatened to kill him. Had she said something, he might just have taken that advice.

Instead, he took a cloth to Tosh's worksurface, clearing away the crumbs of cheesy Wotsits and barbeque-flavoured Pringles. "So can you."

There was a pause, marked only by the rustle of the binbag he had already filled with empty Coca-Cola bottles and mouldy pizza from the fridge. When he turned, he was a little surprised to see Jack still standing there, leaning against the wall, jaw set and no response forthcoming. Ianto looked at Jack's still bruised split lip, and wondered if he should apologise. He didn't feel much like asking for forgiveness.

"Do you miss her?" Jack asked, taking a step closer. Ianto knew that he would never have mentioned her had any of the others been present.

Ianto set the bag down on the floor by his feet. "I miss the responsibility," he said. "I've missed her since..." He wasn't sure how to phrase it without sounding callous, without sounding like Jack hadn't been at least partly responsible. But Jack nodded, and with that simple gesture came a flood of relief that someone understood. "And who do you miss, Jack?"

He was surprised when Jack grabbed his arm, making him step forward. "Everyone," Jack said in a whisper next to his ear. "Everyone."

Ianto was still looking at him in surprise and confusion when Jack kissed him - that long, practised, and barely emotional kiss Ianto had been imagining for a long while in shadowy dreams.

Jack drew back an inch or two. "There's something erotic about loneliness," he said, and smiled.

Ianto thought there was nothing erotic about it. And perhaps that was the point.

 

5.

Ianto lay awake in the dark and quiet of Jack's room, hidden beneath the Hub in an atmosphere that reminded him more of a submarine than a bedroom. The air was thick, and hot, and dry. Ianto could imagine the sweat on his body vaporising as he remained perfectly still, neither sleeping nor entirely awake.

What was he doing here? He could understand the need for a release from tension; could understand his need to be violent, to conquer, to re-open wounds and taste blood on another man's lips. But this was not victory, nor suicide. This was... waiting.

Beside him, naked and strangely innocent, was Jack, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Ianto had never seen him sleep before, even on the all-night surveillance operations when everyone else had taken shifts and guzzled coffee like madmen.

After a moment, Jack stirred, and Ianto was glad to find warm skin covering his, driving away all thoughts of old friends lying cold and alone.

"I never expected you to stay," Jack said in a murmur, burying his face in Ianto's hair.

 _I had nowhere else to go_ , Ianto thought, but he followed the trail of Jack's breath to find another kiss in the darkness.

He was getting used to the silence.


End file.
